two point five

Any of you get excited when a new version is about to roll out?

I just got a new iPhone. And some of the new features are incredible. Like, it recognizes my face. Even when I'm looking down at it and not when I have it above my face so as to not show my neck rolls whilst taking a selfie.

It knows me. The real me. It knows me better than my Insta fam. Or my Snapchat friends. And that's a little sad.

It has been two point five years since I've written anything real on here. I have been so wrapped up in maintaining my 2.5 jobs and feeling sorry for the 2.5 heartbreaks I've had and wondering if I'm ever gonna have the 2.5 kids I was supposed to have by now that I just can't sit down and process that because if I do I might figure out that Jessi v2.5 is the same Jessi she was 2.5 years ago and I just can't.

How many of y'all felt that?

I mean know I'm not the exact same person. Deep down I know that. Not that there's anything wrong with Jessi 2.0, or 1.0 for that matter, but I do know that people have to grow. We have to learn. I mean that's the whole damn point of this blog....me figuring out how to grow to learn to love to live.

I recently did a boudoir session with Blackberry and Fig Studios, which was not nearly as terrifying as it would have been 5 years ago. (Honestly, 5 years ago Jessi 2.0 probably would have judged Jessi 2.5 for even doing it. Shame on her.) It was really fun, but it was also one of the most vulnerable things I've ever done, and it really made me think about how I view myself.

I have lived my life to please others in a big way. Not saying there is anything inherently wrong with that, but I've also realized there is an anti-altrusitic element about the way I was doing it:

I want to be a good person, yes, but I also want people to think I'm a good person.

And sometimes I think the importance of the latter outweighs the former and that, dear friends, is where I go wrong. From what I say to what I post on social media, there is always that question of "But what will people think if I say this? Or do this?" Will people think I'm funny? Will they think I'm cute? Will this get his attention? Will she think I'm trying to get attention?

It all comes down to pride. And honestly I think we all struggle with it to some extent. I want to be seen as good and smart and pretty and fun. But why? I'm still trying to figure that part out.

I've had a couple of people tell me to read The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck.

Jessi 2.0 read the title, made assumptions, and was like "Nah I want to give a f*ck about everything. That's what good people do." But Jessi 2.5 has at least learned that sometimes other people are right and sometimes she assumes things that are incorrect.

I haven't finished it yet but so far it has hit me square in the moneymaker. Because, here's the thing. If we try to give a f*ck about everything, we're not really giving a f*ck about anything. Except, maybe, trying to *look* like we give a f*ck. And that just doesn't f*cking matter.

As Mr. Manson writes, "Who you are is defined by what you're willing to struggle for." And I'm realizing, slowly, that the things I struggle for on a daily basis are not the things that will in fact make me a better person, or the world a better place, so why, dear heart, must you keep struggling?

I sincerely want to be a good person, but I also want to be the kind of girl that is smart enough to know the difference between being good and being a pushover. A girl who can be confident without being prideful, strong without hurting someone else. It is a fine line that I walk daily.

Here's hoping Jessi v2.5 will keep struggling only for those things that are worth struggling for. And here's hoping I don't give a f*ck about which or how many of you cares.


xo,
jess

p.s. Shoutout to Leslie at Blackberry and Fig for capturing me at a time when I was hurting but you still thought I was beautiful. There is something quite nice about that.

OkStupid

I signed up for OkCupid last night. That's when I knew I'd hit rock bottom. Not that there's anything wrong with dating apps, I just always said I would never do it. "If I meet someone, I meet someone. I'm not gonna force it." I've always hated trying when it comes to stuff like that. I prefer things to happen naturally. I'm all about the story, and when I do fall in love, I would like to have a good story to tell. Blame the Disney movies if you want; I sure as hell do. 

And to be clear, I'm really not even ready to date yet. I think I just needed a little pick-me-up, and I thought, what the hell, might as well try it and see what this is all about.

Nah.

Filling in my profile was one of the most painful experiences of my life. And I say that while lying in bed with a pinched nerve that is leaving me unable to leave said bed.

Q: Write a self summary

A: I cannot believe I'm actually doing this.

Q: What are you doing with your life?

A: HOW ABOUT YOU STOP RUBBING IT IN I CAME HERE TO FEEL BETTER ABOUT MYSELF

Q: What are you really good at?

A: Being awkward. Again, thanks for asking.

So I finish filling in these answers will all of my smart ass comments, kind of making a joke of the whole thing, because again, what am I even doing here? But people actually start messaging me. Like, immediately. And this is where the fun really starts. 

"Hello gorgeous, I really liked what you said in your profile. We share a lot of interests..."

Liar.

"You are gorgeous. Tex me."

Nah.

"36 yer old guy mobile"

???

"I feel lonely tonight"

Ew.

And the best one:

"Do u like ur pretty feet rubbed"

....

What in the actual f*** you guys.

It's not that I'm depressed really, or hell maybe I am. I'm just confused. This is not where I thought I would be...a thirty-something single gal with two spoiled dogs and a mortgage who is still paying off credit cards and student loans from a degree she never used. And is still trying to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up. Who signs up for an online dating app one night out of boredom and ends up feeling even more alone than she did before. I am like the real life Bridget Jones, karaoke drum solo and all.

Maybe I'm a pretentious bitch. I mean, it's possible. Like, if you say "tex" instead of "text" and "ur" instead of "your," chances are I'm going to laugh at you whilst swiping left. Because I say things like "whilst" and I don't need you in my life. And sure, compliments are great, but just telling me I'm pretty is not gonna do it for me. Like I'm gonna be all, "Oh my gosh, you think I'm pretty?!?! Done and done. Let's do it." I mean, for real though, what is wrong with people? And what does a girl gotta do to fall in love these days? And more importantly, why do I even care?!

I can.

I was so hopeful. I remember looking forward to who I was going to be, what I was going to do. I was passionate and driven and kind. For some reason, I think the world has made me ashamed of my inability to find someone to fall in love with, like you're supposed to do, and be successful, like you're supposed to be. And it's left me a little bitter. I feel like I'm doing the right things, but nothing is working out right. My relationships always fail and my businesses never pay the bills on time. 

And don't tell me to pray. I do pray. And don't tell me to go to church, cause right now that's just depressing too. I'm surrounded by happy people with hot, doting husbands with their happy babies and I just want to tell them to suck it. Which, I know, is so wrong, cause church is supposed to be about God, and it is, cause God made hot, doting husbands who love their wives and babies and I'm just like, "WHY NOT ME, LORD?"

I mean this too shall pass. I'm just having a minute. Probably PMSing, because YES THAT'S A REAL THING. And also being bedridden makes me have to think and shit. I kind of already feel like the cantankerous old lady with her old-lady-moth-ball-smelling sweaters. It happens, I guess.

Maybe I should add that to my profile.

Nah.

I am awkward, and I am smart, I am brutally honest, and I can be a sarcastic bitch at times. 

Stop telling me that's not ok, world.

xoxo

Jessi 

a third side to the target debacle.

I keep hearing about this whole Target bathroom debacle, and the more I hear, the angrier I get. It seems that nowadays all we do is play Red Rover with our issues. You on one side with your "opinion" and you on the other with your "opinion," wondering who's gonna be the strongest or the fastest and win.

Everyone's got an opinion. You're on the outside looking in, but you just want to win, casualties be damned.  Feelings be damned. Truth be damned.

 There are only two options. Pick one.

1) Transgenders deserve the right to pee in whatever bathroom they want.
2) Letting transgenders pee in whatever bathroom they want means my kid might get molested.

Hearing these two options, most people choose a side quickly and fiercely, as if they have some kind of stake in the matter. Looking at that list of options, quite frankly, I would tend to agree with Option 1. That seems logical. Who cares what bathroom people pee in?! Plus, Option 2 seems unlikely, not to mention the fact that correlating transgenders with sexual assault is just wrong. And, as I'm sure we've all been hearing, we've already peed in the same bathroom as a transgendered person. It happens all the time. And it's fine.

Which is true.

But here's the deal. There is a third side to this. A side that is apparently "not what you need to be afraid of" because, as we all know, out of the 1 in 10 children that are sexually assaulted, close to 90% of them are molested by someone they know. It's the creepy uncle we need to be afraid of. Or the nosy neighbor. Or the naughty teacher. "Stranger danger" is just some cliche, and we need not fear, because ONLY 10% of them get molested by strangers, and I mean, really, no one gets molested in a public bathroom.

Well, except me.

I did.

April 17, 1996. 2:40 pm. I was 11 years old. I was wearing black jeans and a red sweater and my green Wednesday panties. I was at school. I left Mrs. Osborne's math class early to use the bathroom. A guy had already snuck in and was hiding in one of the stalls. He waited until I was alone...

And I've spent the last twenty years checking every bathroom stall to make sure no one else is waiting for me. I've spent the last twenty years having flashbacks of a boy with a blue washcloth over his face and a gun to my head telling me not to scream as I undressed. And it's been twenty years since I've been able to wear day-of-the-week underwear.

I'm not telling you this so we can have some silly pity party. This isn't easy or fun for me to talk about, but I'm ok. And I won't let someone tell me to keep quiet again.  I swore a long time ago I would do what it takes to speak up for the kids like me who didn't get to have a voice when their innocence was stolen from them.

It's not fair to call me a statistic. It's not right to say that because I am in the minority, I don't matter. Isn't that what you are trying to argue against anyway? Discrimination against the minority?!

Who are you really trying to protect?

Yourself maybe? Does it look better to choose a certain side? Do you work with people who chose a certain side? Do you get better blog ratings if you choose a particular side? And it goes both ways. I'm not pointing my finger at one or the other.

So what if I choose neither side?

Because this situation is bigger than peeing, and it is not about discrimination. It really isn't. I don't have a problem with transgenders using any bathroom they want. I know you just want to pee. Hell, I wish that guy hiding in that stall in April of 1996 was a transgender. Cause then HE WOULDN'T HAVE WANTED TO MOLEST ME. I do not hate transgender people. At all. And if you know me, you know that's the truth.

My problem is with the idea of calling out a specific policy to the public in general that may allow for a pedophile to use it to his advantage. In my mind, even the possibility that one more kid could be hurt the way I was hurt FAR outweighs whatever damage there is in having to pee in a different bathroom. I'm sorry, but it does.

Tell me if I'm missing something, but I have been racking my brain about this, and I really can't see how peeing matters more than this. Even if the chance of a pedophile taking advantage of this policy is small, minuscule even, why take that chance? I can tell you first-hand that it just isn't worth it. My life has been affected every single day because of what happened to me. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

I still don't know what the answer is, to be honest. I just know that it isn't fair to say it's only about peeing, or only about discrimination. Whatever it is, it isn't just that. And it isn't just because of hate or disregard for "inclusivity." There is probably a third side to every story, something I am just now learning, and I hope from now on we can try to see that side too. Because it really does matter. It may only matter to 10% of us. But it still matters.


xoxo,
Jessi

when it's raining, let it rain.

You ever have one of those days where everything just seems to go wrong?

I pride myself on not being much of a worrier. I take things one day at a time, one step at a time, for the most part. Few things stress me out.

Until today.

It all started with a 2:30 am wake up call from one of the nine dogs currently living in my house. Yeah. There are nine of them (actually ten now...but we'll get to that later). So I get up, put on my crocs (because I can no longer walk barefoot in my house without fear of stepping in something unpleasant), and take the eight six-week-olds, plus their mama, outside to go potty. I stand in a stupor for about ten minutes, waiting for all of them to (hopefully) get everything out of their system. And then I round them all up, two at a time, and finally get back in bed. My next and final wake-up call is at 6:30 am, and I do it all over again.

But that's fine. I've been doing that every day, five times a day for a month now. And they are my babies, and I love them. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do, right?

Plus, I think to myself, "Today is going to be better anyway. I will actually get to stay home with them since I'm staying home from work to wait for the internet guy to come fix my internet." That really is a relief to me since I usually have to drive home for lunch, inevitably clean up a floor full of poo, then leave them again, and come home again to a floor full of poo, puppy pads be damned. But I'm home today. I got this.

As I try my best to harness my optimism, more and more things start piling up and it's getting harder and harder to maintain my happy-go-lucky attitude. First,  I get a Facebook message from a friend of mine informing me that she has a partial payment from one of my past clients (who were friends of hers) who never paid me for the work I did for them, work I paid for out of pocket. She got it by going to their house and yelling at them. Obviously, this is the last thing I ever would have wanted, and now clients who already seemed to have very little respect for me have even less. I mean, I'm grateful to have some of my money back, since the mortgage is due and all, but I really can't afford to have even the slightest negative connotation associated with my business that I've worked so hard to keep positive. Not to mention the fact that this whole situation brought back up the fact I am out a whole lot of money I couldn't afford to lose, which just makes me mad all over again.

Then I get a text message from the people who were supposed to adopt one of the puppies. They have decided they can't really keep him, so I am back to having ten dogs. Then the guy who is supposed to be helping us (at my other job) with programming our site is being really vague and unhelpful, not answering my questions or doing any of the things we are requesting of him, things we pay him to do. And he seems to have no respect for me either. I think it's because I'm a girl, so I try to be more assertive and firm, but it still just amounts to him calling my boss and then my boss getting him to do what needs to be done.

Then the straw that broke Jessi's optimism for good: Century Link. Never. Came.

I called them to see why they hadn't shown up yet. I got transferred three times (and the person before never tells the person I am being transferred to the problem, so I keep having to repeat myself). Finally, the last person tells me that the technician decided I was not eligible for the upgraded equipment they were coming to install (because my current internet was not working), and "there is a notification pending in the system to let you know that he won't be coming." WHAT.  A notification is pending? You couldn't have just called me? Since, you know, YOU ARE ALSO A PROVIDER OF PHONE SERVICE.

Commence the weeping.

Let's be honest. If it was just one, maybe even two or three of these things happening at one time, I could have handled it. I think. It was just all coming down on me at once. And all the cold, uncomfortable, unlikeable things about humans and what we sometimes do to each other felt like one of those rainstorms that hits you right after you've gotten your hair done. Except, like, way worse.

I don't think I've said the F word so many times in my entire life.  I mean I'll let one fly every once in a while when I just need to let out some hot air, but I try to keep my composure. I try to be respectful to those around me, I try to be a good Christian girl, asking what would Jesus do and all that. But not today, friends. Not. Today.

Have you ever read "The Birds of Killingworth," by Henry Longfellow? It's basically about a town of people who kill all of the birds because their singing is getting on their nerves, but then all of the bugs that the birds were eating, are now eating the townspeople's crops. So they end up going out and finding more birds to bring back into town, realizing that their singing is far less of an evil than starving to death.

Interesting.

You know, it really gets on my nerves when people start busting out in Annie show tunes whenever I'm having a bad day, so I will spare you that. But, I do think there is wisdom in Longfellow's words when he says, "The best thing one can do when it is raining, is to let it rain."

I know that "the sun will come out tomorrow," but what I need to know is that right now, it's raining, and that is actually ok.

We are allowed to have bad days. We are allowed to soak up the misery and cry it out. Maybe have a glass of wine or four. Buts let's not kill all the birds either, you know what I mean? Cause if it's not birds, then it's bugs. And that's not cool.

So I'm just gonna sit here and cry for a while until I feel a little more like Annie, and I give you permission to do the same.

xoxo,
jessi

p.s. If you've never seen Emperor's New Groove, then watch it next time you are having a bad day. It just might help.

adulting on christmas

I have this distinct memory of Christmas as a kid...riding in a car for hours to get to Granny's house, of stepping out onto that smooth concrete in the carport that the cousins and I would be skating on later, seeing Granny open up her screen door and leaning out a little, waiting for us to come inside. I remember her hugs, and the smell of stale cigarettes as I walk into her kitchen. I remember the silver tinsel on the Christmas tree, most of which floated to the floor or on top of the presents crowded under the tree. I remember making a pallet on the living room floor to sleep on since the adults got to have the bedrooms. I remember my brother and cousin stealthily opening up their presents Christmas Eve to see what they got, then carefully taping them back up so no one would notice. I remember Christmas morning. I remember the anticipation and the excitement and the joy.

Honestly, I can't really remember the presents I opened (except for that one time I got a hat with a huge sunflower on the front and my cousin Brook got a similar one, plus matching overalls. Those kinds of things are hard to forget...) but I do remember all the feelings. And I miss those. And the people. I miss them too.

Adulting at Christmas is hard. I've heard it gets better when you have kids, and you sort of get to relive that Christmas magic through them, but I'm not there yet. I'm not a kid and have no kids. I'm an adult. Who just ate a double quarter pounder from McDonalds for dinner on Christmas Eve. (And I still can't decide if that's the saddest thing I've ever heard, or if the sadder thing is the fact that someone was working the drive through window at McDonalds on Christmas Eve.)

Is anyone else with me on this? I feel kind of guilty saying this out loud, since Christmas is really about the birth of the Savior of mankind and all that, but the struggle is real ya'll. What is it about this time of year that makes me dislike being an adult?! It's like the best part of being a kid was Christmas-time, and the best part of Christmas-time is being a kid.

Maybe it's just the unholy amount of saturated fats I just consumed, but I'm a little sad now.Will it ever be the way it was? Can it? Should it? And is it all in my head? Did my parents feel then the same way I do now? Will we continue to miss the gift we never knew we had?!



Yeah I really don't know the answers to those questions, but I do know I get to go to my parents' house tomorrow morning, and I will probably show up in my pj's (if only I still had a yellow onesie...), and mom will make breakfast, and the coffee snob in me will be grateful that my parents are coffee snobs too.

I have many things to be grateful for: a beautiful, loving family, a cute puppy dog, a Creator of the universe who sent his only son to die for me, to name a few. I know that tomorrow can be whatever I make of it, and more than likely it will be a good day. Sometimes I just miss the stale cigarettes and silver tinsel, you know?

Anyway, Merry Christmas. Ya filthy animals. ;)

xoxo
Jessi

dear drake,

It's crazy how you can miss someone so much that you never even knew.

I just spent the last five days with my cousin (your mom), Brook. She is the cousin I am probably closest to, because we are the closest in age and share an affinity for Andrew Keegan, Twizzlers and Dawson's Creek (even though she's Team Dawson and I'm totally Team Pacey). She is the cousin that introduced me to Nirvana and Doc Martens and Sonic the Hedgehog. She gave me someone to talk to during family get-togethers. She even broke up with my 7th grade boyfriend for me because I was too scared to do it myself (still sorry about that, Steven). Brook is the most outright, honest, no-nonsense, independent woman I know. I love spending time with her because she reminds me of what  it looks like to be yourself, and to be ok with it.

I also got to meet your dad for the first time. I can't tell you how lucky you are to have Dillan for a daddy. Not only does he adore your momma, he is also hard-working and faithful and kind. I am so proud to be a part of his family now too. And that includes his parents, your grandparents. They feel like home, and I loved them the second I met them.

When I heard about what happened, that you were born unexpectedly last Monday, straight into Heaven, without ever taking a breath on your own, I was absolutely rattled. I had to leave work for the day. My first thoughts were of your parents, who were so excited about you coming into their lives. I didn't understand why this was happening, the same thought I get every time something bad happens to someone good. I don't even try to understand their heartbreak; honestly I think it would kill me.

All I could think about for the next five days was getting to your mom. I know I hadn't seen her in over two years, but now it just seemed so wrong that I would be so far away from her while she was going through something so terrible. I was finally able to make it up there on Saturday, and as soon as I saw her I hugged her and the tears came.

In the next couple of days I learned how truly incredible your parents are, and how blessed I am to be a part of this family of ours. They are among the strongest, bravest, most loving people I've ever known. They were so sad, but stayed so positive. They knew where you were, so they had no fear. They are missing you for now, but know they'll get to see you again one day. Some people's faith is shaken by tragedy. I think theirs was made stronger. I know you were born with and for a purpose. And you died with one too. I won't pretend to completely understand why God doesn't stop bad things from happening to us, but I do know that He can take something really awful and make it into something good.

I'll be honest, I'm still sad that I don't get to meet you and see the man you become. But as hard as it is for us, I trust that you are doing well, looking down on us with that sweet smile. It's probably weird to say this out loud, but I'm kind of jealous of you up there in Heaven with the Big Daddy, and your grandma Julie and Aunt Laura and Granny and so many others I've had to say goodbye to down here. I am glad to know I have family there though, and that you are now and will always be taken care of.

I am reminded of what my friend Hannah taught me a while back when she went through something similar - the best thing we can do to honor your memory is to remember you, love you and move forward with hope. So here I am remembering you. I loved you even before I saw those sweet pictures of you that cousin Kena took. You were perfect and beautiful. I know that pales in comparison to how you are now, truly perfect and beautiful beyond compare...

I really do miss you, but please know that you will never be forgotten. You will always be my sweet baby cousin Drake, and you will always and forever be loved.

xoxo
Cousin Jessi

"Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk across the waters, wherever you would lead me..."

i used to be perfect.

I used to be perfect. I made perfect grades, was a perfect child, never got into trouble, never snuck out of the house, never went to parties, never even dated. I didn't drink, I didn't smoke, I didn't do drugs, I didn't have sex.

In college I kept up with all of this and more. I was the president of my campus ministry. I was also the secretary, treasurer, and promotions officer, a small group leader and in the worship band. I was a good person. I really loved people, and wanted to make a difference. And I knew it. I also knew that this meant I would fall happily in love by the time I graduated college and then have 2.5 children by the time I was 30. This is the plan for all good girls, and I stick to plans.

Goodness, however, is not a true compass for life. Yes, we should try to be good and make good choices, but it doesn't actually dictate our path in life, at least not always. There's a lot more to it than that.

Four years ago, almost exactly, I broke up with my fiancee/best friend, left my home in New York, quit a job that I loved and moved back in with my parents in Alabama to start over. This was not my plan, but my plan was not working out for me. And I was angry. I had been so good for so long and had nothing to show for it. It wasn't fair.

So I decided to stop caring so much.

I'm not saying I'm a bad person; in fact, all in all I'd say I'm still a pretty good person. But the last four years have been quite the roller coaster. I have done and said things I am not proud of. I have fallen quite far from the pedestal I once put myself on. I've done the things I swore I would never do. I have made bad choices and hurt people. I've let people hurt me.

And you want to know the darkest part? It's a secret I could never tell anyone, but I'll tell you anyway: I wanted it.

I remember telling my mom a long time ago that I was afraid my story wasn't exciting enough. That I couldn't relate to other people because I had never really done anything bad. I remember her telling me that it scared her that I thought that. I understand that now too.

I wanted to know what heartbreak felt like. I know now. I wanted to know what rejection felt like. I know now. I wanted to know what drunkenness felt like. I know now. I wanted to know what lust felt like. I know now. And it has broken me. Not just me, but the little bubble I had lived in for so long. I could no longer be ignorant, or naive. And that can be a very scary place to be. I found myself longing for the safe little cocoon that I once lived in, far from real life and real choices and real people.

But here I am, smack dab in the middle of real life, where it is not safe, and it is certainly not stable.

The only thing that has always been a constant in my life, besides my family, is God. I have always loved God so, so much. It may sound cheesy and silly, and a lot of my friends now don't really understand it, but even when I wasn't in church I always believed and I always loved Him. There are things I believed growing up that just don't apply in real life, and that may have been a part of my original naivete and ignorance, and I definitely don't want to go back to that, but I have never wanted to leave God. Never. I have just been so afraid that I couldn't do it "correctly" anymore, whatever that means. Following Him is so damn heartbreaking sometimes because it's just so hard and we're just so bad at it. And I really hate being bad at things.

I became so fixated on the fact that I am never again going to be that girl from four years ago, that I was forgetting the fact that I am who I am today, and that's pretty awesome too. Yes, I have made bad choices, but who's to say I can't be even better because of those choices?

In church this morning (p.s. I've finally found another church that feels honest and real and I am so grateful for that) Pastor Ryan was talking about the prophet Haggai and the word he got while they were rebuilding the temple: that "the glory of this present house will be even greater than the glory of the former house." And maybe this is me being self-centered again, but who's to say God can't do the same thing with me? Maybe I can be a better, stronger, less afraid version of myself? With a little more wisdom? And humility? Lots and lots of humility?

I have been so worried that I couldn't be the girl I used to be. And that's so silly. Why should I ever be her again? She was not real. She followed a set of rules because she was scared of the consequences, not because she truly believed in what she was doing. She did what she was supposed to do, not because she was truly following the example of Jesus, but because she was looking forward to the reward. That is no way to live. Or at least, it is no way to live well. It's certainly not the way God wants us to live.

Now, I am so glad to be broken. I am so glad to be teachable. I am so glad to be wrong. I am so glad to know that when I make mistakes, I can be better off for them. I am so glad to know that I get more than one chance.

I used to be perfect. And I am so glad I'm not anymore.



Love,
Jessi

we are groot.

I recently saw the newest Marvel movie, Guardians of the Galaxy, and it was spectacular. A bunch of misfits and ne'er-do-wells fighting a common enemy for a common good, and they literally save the galaxy. Honestly, I was pretty skeptical that I would even like the movie that much, and I'm a huge Marvel fan. I just wasn't sure it would really come together in the end, and I wasn't sure the storyline would even be that entertaining for me. I was pleasantly surprised.

My favorite character was Groot. He's basically a huge tree (literally - he's called a Flora Colossus) who can only say the phrase "I am Groot." (Well, actually, he is saying a lot of things, but we simple-minded folk only hear "I am Groot." It takes a more complex brain, like that of Rocket Raccoon, to understand what he is truly saying..but I digress.)

Basically, Groot is misunderstood - a lot. He looks different. He is intimidating. And literally no one can understand him. He is so so so different...."other-worldy" in more ways than the obvious. People assume that because he is so different, and because he is from another world, he can't possibly be one of us. He doesn't think like us, or feel like us, or act like us.  He is, quite simply, not "us."

(Just so you know, a spoiler alert is coming, so if you haven't seen the movie yet, please go watch it, then finish reading this post.)

Towards the end of the movie, the Guardians must do something drastic to defeat Ronan and save everyone else. What ends up happening, is that to save his friends, Groot creates a protective covering of branches to surround them. He used the thing that made him different to help the people he loved, and in doing so sacrificed himself. When Rocket Raccoon understood what he was doing, and what would ultimately happen, he asked Groot, "Why are you doing this?!" His response: "We are Groot."

I'll tell you what, I wept for days after that.

Sometimes I make fun of myself for learning such huge life lessons from movies. Especially comic book movies. But, it happens, like all the time. In this case I learned that no matter how different we seem, or where we are from, we are all from the same tree, so to speak.

I recently had the pleasure of meeting the stunning Kate Bosworth. It was completely random. She just happened to be at a bar that I was at near my hometown. I would like to say I confidently walked up to her and like "Hello, Kate. It is very nice to meet you. I am a huge fan. May I take a picture with you?" But that did not happen. Luckily, I was with a much braver friend, who gave little to no shits about looking like a crazy person, and walked right up to her and asked to take a photo with me.

Kate was very pleasant, even though we were totally interrupting a conversation she was having with her gorgeous husband. She shook my hand as I introduced myself. She smiled. She said she'd be happy to take a photo with me. She literally made my night.

In typical now-a-days fashion, I immediately uploaded the photo to Instagram and Facebook. I was so excited. I was not, however, prepared for the comment feed that followed.

"What in the world happened to her face?"
"Do her features look a little alien to you?"
etc, etc.

I was absolutely mortified.

What if she somehow sees this photo (that I've already tagged her in) and she sees these comments?! How horrible! I was baffled that anyone, let alone my friends, could ever say such nasty things about another human being.

Of course, thinking about it later, I realized that this happens all of the time. I'm guilty of it too, much to my own disappointment. We somehow think that because these people seem like they live in another world (i.e. "Hollywood") they are somehow different than "us." They don't mind if we make fun of what they do to their faces (even though they probably had work done to cover another insecurity that someone else made them feel bad about). They don't mind if we make fun of the way they speak or the way they walk or the clothes they wear or the work they do.

They aren't "us" right?

But that night, I shook Kate's hand. She smiled at me and said "Hello" before turning back to have a drink with her husband. I hate to break it to you, but she is actually quite like "us." She just had more money to get the plastic surgery to get rid of the things she didn't like. All I could afford was the concealer to hide my acne, and the tweezers to get rid of my unibrow.

In the end, I'm no better than any of the people who said those things about Kate. It just seemed so personal because I met her. I will tell you now though, I will be much more mindful of the things I say about other people, no matter how distant from me they seem. Because "We are Groot," after all, and I honestly can't see it working any other way.

Love,
Jessi

all alone in a crowd of people.

I remember one of my favorite parts about living in New York was being able to walk down Broadway at lunchtime, people swarming all around me, and no one even noticed I was there. It was wonderful. That was my alone time. That was my time to process and think.

I’m an introvert, all the way. I need alone time to recharge, or else I get really sad, depressed even. Not everyone works that way, but I do. I love to be alone. In fact, I am sitting in a Mexican restaurant, eating all by myself, amongst the sorry stares I’m sure I’m getting, because I truly don’t mind being alone.

The recent death of the great Robin Williams has shaken me to my core. I know, it’s horrible, because with everything else going on, with children being decapitated in the middle east and the Ebola virus running rampant and killing too many people to count, the thing that I feel most grieved about is the death of this one man.

Except he wasn’t just one man to me, not really. Peter Pan. Dr. Patch Adams. Jack. Mrs. Doubtfire. Professor Keating. Genie. Sean Maguire. Allan Parish. Just to name a few. So many men that I adored, that I grew up with. And I feel horrible, because as well as I thought I knew “him,” I had no idea that he was so sad. The man who put on a smile on a million faces was sad. It haunts me. You just never know.

Maybe it’s rattled me too because this is not the first time someone I’ve loved has chosen to end their life. I have had friends and family members commit suicide. Each time leaving me both angry and hurt, if that’s allowed. My first reaction is anger. “How dare he leave me.” “She was supposed to be at my wedding.” “Does she not realize how much this will hurt me.” Me, me, me. I almost always forget to think about what they were feeling, and concentrate instead on my immediate emotions. Betrayal. Anger. Despair.

Those feelings quickly turn around though, and then I feel guilty. Did I not listen to her? Did I not call him enough? Did she not realize how much I needed her in my life? Clearly this is all my fault. If only I had done more...if only I had paid more attention...

So I’ve decided that suicide sucks. It just does. Cause the fact is, I have no frickin clue what was going on in her head. I don’t know why he did it. I don’t know why she didn’t just talk to me. And it sucks. Because I didn't know. And I feel like I should have known. We should have known. And I know I’m out of my mind thinking this. It has nothing to do with me, really. But I can’t help thinking it. I can’t stop thinking it. How much of this can we help? Is it purely chemical? Is there really nothing we can do? I can’t handle it. And don’t tell me to just pray. I mean, I’ll pray, I will. But Jesus didn’t call us to be his hands and feet for nothing. And I know we aren’t supposed to use them to just pat a back and walk away. That just can’t be what he meant.

Mr. Williams apparently once said that what sucks is not to be alone, but to be in a crowd of people and feel alone. And as much as I enjoyed my strolls down Broadway, I think I can understand that. Because even though I enjoy my “alone” time, I know that if I ever needed to, I’d have a friend I could call and talk to, one who I really related to. I also know that even when I’m “alone,” I’m never truly alone. I believe there is a God out there who hangs out with us, like all the time. It’s definitely our choice to believe He’s there, but I really don’t think that changes the fact that he is there.

And sure, sometimes that thought sucks too. I mean, I know God was there with Mr. Williams when he tied that belt around His neck, but He sure didn’t intervene and be like “Hey Buddy, maybe you should put that belt down.” Which kinda pisses me off too, to be perfectly honest, but I can’t exactly question an omniscient being, can I? Maybe he sees something greater coming out of this. Maybe this will raise more awareness about the millions of others suffering from depression. Maybe Robin Williams’ death will in turn save thousands of others.

I dunno. It still sucks. We ain't ever had a friend like you.

Rest in peace Mr. Williams. You truly were one of the great ones, and you'll always be remembered as such.

feeling inspired.

I've finally started acting on a dream I've had for a while - start a photography series centered on people who inspire me. I've just posted my first "Inspired By" story on the Casara Photo blog, and I'd love for you to check it out. It's the story of Hannah, and her journey through motherhood, infertility, loss, and her unwavering faith through it all. Hannah has taught me to see beauty all around me. Her story is also helping to connect people who may be feeling alone in their struggles. If you're looking for some inspiration, or maybe you're coping with a loss of your own, I highly encourage you to read her story.

Love,
Jessi

hello, dreamer.

Good morning, friends.

Can I just say how nice it is to be doing this again? I realize in my last post how much of a whiner I was being...mornings...jobs...eek. But really I am incredibly excited about what the next few years hold for me.

I feel selfish saying that I want more out of life, because I truly am blessed, but that really is both the pro and con of being a dreamer isn't it? One the one side, I have these beautiful thoughts and aspirations of good things - and not just for me - I truly do find joy in helping people and showing people how beautiful their lives are.

My passion is photography. Something inside me comes alive when I snap that shutter. It is raw and honest and good. I get to capture a moment that was once fleeting. I get to show a mother her expression when she looks at her newborn. I get to remind a husband how much his wife adores him. I get to bring out the joy kids feel when their only job is to be loved by their parents. And I do it every time I take a picture. I love it.

But like I said, being a dreamer can have it's dark side. Sometimes you feel like you're living an unfulfilled life. You have all of these beautiful hopes, but part of you realizes that not all of them may come to pass, and that leaves you a little sad inside. We feel like the rabbit in the cage...we have our food and water and shelter, but what of those meadows and streams and sunshine? Isn't that what we were made for?

I truly believe that everything God made is good, or at least it's supposed to be. And I think He made us to do good things. I think we are the choices we make and both our actions and intentions frame us and mold us. And, honestly, I think our main job in life is to match our intentions to His. I think that He is the biggest dreamer of us all. I think whatever we can dream He can dream bigger. And that excites me.

So maybe the best thing I can do right now, is just say "I'm in." Right now it is my job to make good choices. Love God, love people. Make my actions match my intentions, which ultimately match His intentions. What better dream is there?

I know there's more to it than that, but I'm still trying to figure it out too. I do know though, that following that dream makes me a lot less sad. So that's a start.

Love,
Jessi

morning people.

I've decided I need to be one of those morning people. I mean, think about it. Morning people make the world go round. Bakers, baristas: morning people. So here I am at 6:30 am trying to be a morning person. I'm hoping this bagel and coffee kick in soon.

I want to do things. Mostly, I want to write beautiful things and photograph beautiful people. And write about the beautiful things that those beautiful people do. Is that so much to ask? Can I please just sit here all day and write about things that make me cry and smile and then go through all of the photographs I took this weekend and share them with the world in hopes of bringing a smile to someone else's face?

I want to help make the world go round too.

I have a full time job though so I have to leave soon. I have to sit in front of a computer writing about things I don't really care about, and looking through photos that I don't really care about, and answering phones that I surely do not care about. Because I have bills and responsibilities and whah whah whah.

Surely this is not God's will for me.

My pastor did this super annoying message series at church the last few weeks. He said that God's will is whatever. Like, whatever you're doing (as long as it's not killing, lying, cheating, etc) can be in the will of God. And we should do it well, do it "as unto the Lord." Because wherever we're at, if we're claiming to know Christ, we need to act like Him.

Yeah that's super annoying. I mean it's true, but it's annoying.

I want to quit and run away and then come sit in Starbucks and write forever and forever. But writing does not pay the bills my friends, at least not yet. You gotta do whatcha gotta do. Or something.

Anyway, I say all of that to say that I'm going to try and do both. I'm gonna wake up at the crack of dawn so I can do what I love, and then go to work and try to do it the best I can, so I can pay my bills and be responsible (and pay for my coffee and bagel at 6:30 in the morning) so I can keep doing what I love to do.

I sincerely hope that one day this is my job. In the meantime, look at how cute this is:

Love,
Jessi
 

how dare you.

Do you  know who has had the audacity to break my heart? To make me want to give up on humankind? Who has absolutely deserved a kick in the groin and a slap in the face?

Christians.

And I don't mean the real deals, I mean the ones claiming to be Christians - the ones who actually claim to follow Jesus Christ himself - and who are absolutely positively the most vile, prideful, disrespecting, violent, hurtful human beings on the face of the planet.

You claim to be better than someone else? You say that those people "aren't worthy" because of their background or social circumstance or GOD FORBID their sexual orientation (yep, I said it)?

HOW. DARE. YOU.

If Christ himself would never say those things, or do those things, who are you? Who do you think you are?? Do you really think you're better than he is?

"Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone." - John 8:7

So go ahead, Oh Sinless One, you cast that stone.

You blameless, perfect, wonderful being. CAST IT.

I. DARE. YOU.

Yes, I am a bit angry. Angry enough the throw some card tables maybe. Not that I'm trying to compare myself to Christ, cause God knows I'm a screw up. But at least I admit it. I may not be perfect, or anywhere close, but I do think I know what it means to follow Christ. And it starts with LOVE.

We are to be patient, kind, loving and gentle. PERIOD. Through that love HE will be known, because that is who HE is.

Less of you and more of HIM.

Geez.

And go read Philippians 2 while you're at it.

I'm out.

Love,
Jessi

sometimes I just want a script.

I can literally lay on the couch and watch an entire season of a cheesy teenage drama series and never get bored. Is that bad?

I so easily get sucked into their world. I get attached to the characters; I want to know how their lives end up. I still wonder how Joey and Pacey are doing. And Peyton and Luke. And oh my gosh did Veronica and Logan even end up together?!? (I mean how are you supposed to deal with a series getting cancelled mid-season?!)

I think there's something wrong with me.

Isn't my life supposed to be more interesting than a fictional tv show? When did reality become less interesting than a script? (Well, I guess there is the whole thing where writers deliberately add drama to keep you watching...they do call it "drama" for a reason.) But isn't life full of real drama? Maybe we'd rather be involved with someone else's drama. Maybe it's easier to watch it from "afar." Maybe it's easier to point out what they did wrong or say "Oh, I would have done it this way instead." Maybe it's easier to see how obvious the right thing is and blame the obvious bad guy for doing the wrong thing. Maybe it's also nice to see the good guy do the wrong thing, and then pat ourselves on the back for being "normal."

Whatever the reason, it's distracting. I've been sitting on the couch since 11am watching the entire first season of "Switched At Birth" and wondering if Bay and Emmett are gonna make it through this whole Ty fiasco (and holy crap they better) but simultaneously wondering if maybe my Saturday could have been better spent hanging out with real people with real problems?

Is it ok that I would rather hang out with fictional characters that have their own scripts than with real people I might actually have to converse with?

I'm not so sure.

Sometimes I just want my own script...

Road trips

Sometimes it is nice to see new things.

you think you're alone, but you're not

I've been wanting to write about this for a long time, but it sucks to talk about it. I hate that it sucks to talk about it, so I'm gonna talk about it.

The 17th was 17 years to the day since the worst day of my life. I still think about it, still remember it, and still want more than just justice. I want freedom. Don't get me wrong, I have forgiven and moved forward with my life. I do not live in fear like I used to, but I still live with the sadness of knowing that there are girls like me all over the world who don't have the freedom to talk about it. They are scared and they feel alone. So that's what I'm doing. Talking (or writing, but whatever, you get my point).

So here I am at 11 years old. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, and impeccable fashion tastes (and, yes, that is a unibrow).

I am more than a little naive. I'm 11 for goodness sake. That is how it should be. I know nothing about boys or what they think about. I don't know if they are much different than me, other than the fact that they stink a little more and are kinda annoying sometimes. I'm an A/B student. I live in a small town. My parents aren't rich, but they aren't poor either. I'm average.

April 17th, 1996. I'm in my 6th grade math class, and it's about 20 minutes til the last bell, but I have to pee. I ask Mrs. Osborne for a bathroom pass, and she lets me go. I walk into the empty bathroom and into the second to last stall cause it's the one that closes the best. None of the stalls have locks that work. A few seconds later the lights go out. Very funny. "Hey turn the lights back on. Someone's in here!" Then someone comes into my stall. "Hey someone's in here!" Then someone puts a gun to my head and tells me if I say anything he'll kill me.

This makes no sense. I'm at school. I've used this bathroom hundreds of times. I don't understand what is happening.

He puts duct tape over my mouth and tells me to take my pants off. I still remember it was a Wednesday because I was wearing my green Wednesday panties. He touches me in a place I didn't think he was supposed to. I stand there quietly. I have no idea what is going on. He tries pushing me down onto the toilet. He asks me if I've ever done this before. The duct tape on my mouth prevents me from talking, so he lifts up the corner so he can hear the shaky "No." I begin to understand what is happening. I start crying. I start banging on his chest. I don't want to do whatever he wants me to do. He asks me to lay on the floor. I can't lay on the floor, I don't want to. Is he trying to have sex with me? I've heard of that before, but I thought that you had to be a grown up to do that? I thought that you had to have that period thing first. If I don't have my period yet and he tries to have sex with me will I die? It might kill me. I. have. no. idea.

As he is trying to get me to lay down, the lights came on. I see his face. He is a boy that I go to school with. I didn't know it at the time, but he had been suspended from school. He shouldn't have been able to come on campus. He puts a finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet. I don't remember this, but everyone in the classroom next to the bathroom said that they heard a shrill scream, and the girl in the hallway saw the boy run past her.

I stand there, shaking. I have to leave before he comes back. I put my pants back on, but I forgot to put my green Wednesday panties back on so I just stuff them in my pocket. I take off the duct tape. I run.

I run straight into Mrs. Woodburn, my favorite social studies teacher. She holds me until she figures out why I'm crying. "Someone tried to rape me."

The rest of the day was police and questions. My parents were called. That may have been the hardest part. I have only seen my dad cry 3 times, and that was one of them. The principal brought a yearbook and opened it to a specific page. He asked me if the boy who did that was on that page. He was. He knew he was. Later that night, the boy was caught, and a year of trials and court dates ensued. I had to tell that story over and over again in front of a room full of strangers. I remember the defense attorney, who was a heartless bastard, asking me to redraw the gun because I drew it different this time. I must be lying. And I remember the court reporter, who gave me candy and looked at me with the saddest eyes. Long story short, the boy was charged as an adult and sentenced to 20 years in prison on first degree charges of sexual assault and attempted rape with a weapon. Justice is served. (Though it will be a good 5 years before I can use a public restroom by myself).

And here I am 17 years later, still thinking about it. As I said, I did forgive him. Not, of course, because what he did was ok, but because I did not want to live me life in fear and in anger. But honestly I didn't want to tell this story to teach about forgiveness, although I would recommend it to anyone who has been hurt by someone. I am telling it because this happens, and it happens a lot. 

According to the American Medical Association, sexual assault (and rape in particular) is one of the most under-reported crimes in the nation (and I'm sure, the world). It is estimated that 1 in 6 women and 1 in 33 men are victim to attempted or completed rape, and the number is much higher for sexual abuse and other types of sexual assault. Most of these events happen to children between the ages of 12-17. If you also take into account that less than half of cases are typically reported (especially true for boys and men), then those numbers are terrifyingly staggering. And that's just in the U.S. I can't speculate, but I assume that it's even worse in third world countries and places of war.

So, not to play a numbers game, but we are talking at least one out of every four women and one out of every ten men have experienced sexual assault of some kind, and no one ever talks about it. 

I spoke with a group of girls recently at a group home. The "bad" girls who are there for truancy or running away. All of them had been abused. One girl had been raped since she was 3 years old by her stepfather, another had been raped by her brothers with beer bottles. Of course they didn't want to go home. Of course they were doing bad in school. Of course they were stealing food and selling drugs to make money. What else can a 13 year old girl do?

I could go on and on. And I don't expect this blog to change the world or the psychopaths living in it. But at least be aware. Know that this happens, and know that it is ok to talk about it. Know that the girl in your class might have gone through something like this. Or the girl you work with. Or your neighbor. Or your cashier. 

And know that it is terrifying to talk about, but that's ok. You've never felt more vulnerable, weak and alone in all of your life. But it has to stop. We need freedom. And we need it now. 

Feel free to discuss this further in the comments below or share this post with others.

Love,

Jessi

A little get up and go.

I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers. I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know Him better. I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of His glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.   - Ephesians 1:16-19

I needed a little get up and go this morning. I have been so tired, so burned out. So many things on my plate, but so much left I want to do. I needed hope, I needed refreshing. There is a purpose in what I am doing, or at least there can be if I choose to believe it. Live each day on purpose and with purpose. Have hope in Him, know Him, and believe Him when he says "You are ready."

Love,
Jessi

there is an ocean out there. and i'm gonna swim in it.

Hi.

Do you ever feel like you're drowning? Cause I do. Drowning in debt, drowning in work, drowning in love...

But I mean I know it's ok. I know it is. I'm not so far gone that I have lost hope in my ability to make it back up to the top. But it makes me wonder, because I know that not everyone has that hope. Not everyone has learned how to swim, how to get back up there, how to breathe. Not to say that I am the greatest swimmer. I mean, have you read my blog? I sink. A lot. And not just because I can't do it. Sometimes I just forget how important breathing is.


What if drowning is normal? Don't things just feel heavy sometimes? Like you could literally drown in your surroundings, in life? And not always in a bad way. Like sometimes I just love things so much I feel like I'm gonna explode. (Of course I may be a rare case. I mean, I cried at the end of Dark Knight Rises. Wept. I mean, come on. Alfred? Sweet old man. Kiss his frickin cheeks off.) And then there are of course the not-so-happy things that make me want to explode. Like being in debt for the last 5 years. Doesn't matter how much I pay, the next month I still owe the same. damn. amount.

Does everyone drown? And what if you can't swim?! Like at all? What happens to those people? Or what if you don't even know that you need to swim. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??


I dunno kids. I don't know about normal. All I know is there is an ocean out there. And it is full of monsters and pressures and beautiful things. And I want to swim in it. I want to explore the depths and face the monsters and feel the pressures - and then swim back up to the top, take in a big long breath, and do it all over again. Stronger this time.

I may need to borrow somebody's floaties for a while though. Hit me up if you have some.

Love,
Jessi

and then it gets better.

Hi friends, been a while, I know. I hope you don't think less of me. I've missed you, I really have. I think about you constantly. I haven't written in a few months, and I don't have a good excuse. I'm lazy. And I'm tired. That's all.

But things are getting better! I got a new job recently, which will hopefully help with the tired part. No more driving 30 minutes to work, and no more 40-50 hours a week at the mall! I am now the Admin Assistant for Chatham Design Group, which may not sound like much, but I love it. I get to help people find their dream home, which is something I am getting more and more interested in myself as I find myself growing up.

I also started dating my best friend, Gus. (Finally, I know.)

I mean, how pretty would our babies be?? GAH. I need a moment...

Ok, so yes, we've been dating for about 3 months now...and so far so good. I will say though, it's a little terrifying to date your best friend. Cause you know if it doesn't work out, you lose one of the most valuable things in your whole life. But then again, not being with him was so unnatural, it felt stupid. Plus, how great is it to be be with someone who actually understands you, who knows those parts of you that you don't even like, but then loves you anyway? Can't beat that. (Not to say we don't get in a few healthy arguments every once in a while...)

I think for pretty much all of last year I was trying really hard not to care. I just wanted to have fun and be free to do whatever I wanted to do, no feelings attached. And so I made some bad choices. None that I really regret though, to be honest, cause I think they taught me a valuable lesson: You are who you choose to be. And I was not choosing well.

This reminds me of my favorite book by John Steinbeck, East of Eden. One of the major themes is based on the word timshel, a hebrew word meaning "thou mayest." In the Old Testament it's used to say "thou mayest conquer sin." Not you can, you may. 

It is always your choice. You can be good, or you can be bad. That's pretty much what is comes down to. And my dear friends, there are already plenty of bad people in the world. Methinks we should try adding a few more to the good side. And not just for the sake of humanity even, but for the sake of He who created us to be better, to do good, to love all...because we are to be a reflection of Him. And I am so tired of us sucking that up. That's not fair. He's not like that, why should we be? Why should we make everyone else believe He is bad because we are acting that way?!

Let's choose to do some good today, because as another favorite author of mine once wrote, "...that has made all the difference."

Love,

Jessi

ok. let's think about what you've done.

Ah, reflection. Sucks doesn't it?


I think it's finally time, kids. Time for the quarter-life crisis. Oh that's supposed to happen when you turn twenty-five you say? Well, my life was awesome at twenty-five.


Life has its ups and downs, yes. Yes it does. But what do I do during the down time? I'm looking back at this last year of my life and there are few things I want to take from it. Few things I am proud of. That's a real first guys. I mean if I look at my first twenty-five years, I can honestly say I was proud overall. Maybe too proud. I mean I was valedictorian, went to college for something I loved and graduated Summa Cum Laude, then got not one but 3 jobs I adored helping people around the world. I went to 7 different countries, lived in one of them for a while, and got to make a difference in the lives of each one. Dudes, I lived in Harlem. Harlem.


Is it ok for me to say that I am terrified that the best years of my life are behind me?


Now surely that is not true. I am twenty-seven. God-willing, I have a good 50 years ahead of me, time to make a home and start a family, do some more good in the world. But right now it doesn't feel like I'm heading in the right direction. I moved back to my tiny hometown and I've spent the last year - 365 days - doing nothing but working a nowhere job at the mall and singing karaoke on Monday nights. Oh, and watching Netflix. So. much. Netflix.


Before last year, there were only two guys I had so much as held hands with. Now I've had dead-end relationships with guys I knew didn't give a shit and a handful of anonymous make-out sessions.


I stopped caring about myself somewhere.


It's like moving back home made me lose my direction. I can't remember my purpose, or if I even have one. I got a non-stressful, non-committal job on purpose. I date guys who don't love me on purpose. Because I am terrified if I do anything good on purpose, it'll be my fault when it fails. And I'm not sure I can handle another good thing failing on me.


There are so many beautiful things I want to do. But I have no idea how to do them.


Here's to hoping this year is better...


Love,
Jessi